


Blood, Fate and Allegiance

by AmaranthineRain



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Eventual lewds, F/F, F/M, Gen, Heresy, Humans and Eldar getting along for once, Nobledark, Slight AU... maybe?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29692917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthineRain/pseuds/AmaranthineRain
Summary: A chance meeting between the Blood Angels and a detachment of Asuryani from Ulthwé leads to unlikely alliances - and unlikely romances and rivalries. Eventual smut - you have been warned!
Relationships: Aeldari | Eldar Character(s) (Warhammer 40.000)/Original Male Character(s), Blood Angels Legion (Warhammer 40.000) & Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Blood, Fate and Allegiance

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic that has been sitting in my head ever since I got seriously into 40k around the middle of last year, and only now have I been able to get it written with enough confidence in my knowledge of lore. Many thanks to my Discord friends for assisting me with some lore tidbits that were uncertain to me and proofreading my work! Also thanks to @ArsenicTyphoon, @K_Iragana_A and @InkerAnon on Twitter for their fabulous drawings of my protagonists, which I commissioned.

Fog blanketed the woods, obscuring the treetops as she knelt at the altar, whispering a prayer. For what seemed like eons, Elora had sought this most sacred place, believed until now to be a place of legend. A lost paradise of the Eldar, a world her forebears had claimed as their own when it was but a desert, and planted the seeds of the now ancient trees whose dark wood had become gnarled with age. Her psychic abilities had progressed since she found herself lost on her Path, and Alrune, as her ancestors had named this world, revealed itself to her as a faintly glowing aura towards the east of her craftworld. It was surrounded by populated worlds, most of them human, which concerned Elora. As the one who discovered it, she was to lead the expedition there, and did not wish to confront any  _ mon’keigh  _ who might get in her way, assuming her intentions were hostile. But she did not seek to fight them this time. In quiet contemplation she sat, guiding her conclave of warlocks in prayer, the six of them flanked by a squad of guardians should anyone – or anything – attack. In the distance Elora could sense…  _ something _ , but it did not seem to be headed towards her.  _ For now _ .

As she finished the ritual, the Farseer noticed the unmistakable smell of burning wood in the cold air. She wondered if it was one of her guardians lighting a fire, for night was beginning to fall, the sun of this world starting to set, and though Alrune seemed peaceful, it was never a bad idea to remain vigilant when every moment war was raging somewhere in the cosmos. But searching the encampment she found nothing of the sort. Footsteps through the undergrowth grew closer. The guardian she had sent to scout the area had returned, and seemed  _ very  _ concerned about what he had found.

“Lady Elora!” he called out, fear in his voice. “We have company. Someone is desecrating the forest.”

“ _ Isha’s breath _ ,” cursed Elora. “It cannot be. This place remained hidden since our ancestors left it to flourish long ago. Guardians, be vigilant! If they come for us, we charge!”

As the fire spread, the smoke drifted towards the Eldar camp, prompting Elora to quickly reach for her helmet, which she had removed to show respect to the fallen gods enshrined here, wishing to show them her true face. She slipped it over her long silver hair, restrained in a topknot for ease of donning the helm, and stood firmly, readying her spear. Her sensitive ears picked up the sound as it came closer. Rapid fire, clanging metal, thousands of legs skittering amongst the leaves.  _ The Devourer. _ And from their voracious mouths came the unmistakable foul noises they made. But that was not all she heard. Through the trees, battle cries echoed.

“Filthy Xenos! You must die!  _ Die!  _ For the Emperor and Sanguinius!” one voice cried out. Few of Elora’s companions understood the language in which these interlopers spoke, but Elora herself, diplomat that she was, did, and she knew that if they found her and her detachment, a fight was certain to break out.

“What is happening, milady!?” spoke another panicking guardian. “I fear this world might be lost!”

“The  _ mon’keigh  _ are here. No doubt they will attack us. Ready your weapons, Aeldari! Know that if our lives are lost here, it will be a worthy sacrifice!” Elora commanded. Her warlocks surrounded her, standing in formation, blades drawn and ready to cut down whatever sought to challenge them.

Through the woods they charged, blackening the trees and cutting a swath through the forest. Countless Tyranids engulfed in flame, and a squad of fully armoured Space Marines pursuing them. It was not Elora’s first encounter with these terrifyingly large warriors, stalwart protectors of that empire the humans had built, slightly taller than the average Eldar, but curiously, these ones were clad in red rather than the blue armoured men she had seen before. Briefly she wondered if there was any difference, but as they came closer and the stench of charred chitin assaulted her nostrils beneath her helmet, she focused her mind and manifested a glowing blue bolt of light from her palm, bending the Warp to her will, guiding it to strike at the wave of blood red warriors and monstrous devourers that fought before her eyes.

“Vengeance! VENGEANCE!” cried one of the crimson clad marines as he launched a torrent of flame at the devourers, reducing it to ash, but as Elora’s attack struck him, he flew backwards, crashing into the charred tree trunk as he let out his final breath.

“Knife eared witch!” she heard another one yell. The presence of the Eldar had not gone undetected. While the Tyranids were reduced to cinders along with the flora that surrounded them, Elora and her companions still stood in his way, and he was not going to stand idle as they slaughtered his brethren and the woods continued to burn. Bolts struck down several of the guardians, whose surviving allies retaliated with shuriken that pierced the marines’ armour with ease.

The battle raged on until only two survivors remained. The clouds above them had grown denser and a heavy rain began to fall, quenching the flames of the forest fire. The last marine, armour dented almost all over and even broken in some places, drew his chainsword, ready to take Elora on in close quarters. But rather than rushing towards her, he stood still, hesitating. Something was amiss. Why did he not wish to cut her down and end the battle? Elora herself was covered in cuts and bruises, her robes tattered and torn from the carnage, and though she herself could have finished him off then and there with the last of her strength, she did not wish to. The words of her former teacher echoed in her mind.  _ Fight not the mon’keigh. Let them live to fight our battles for us. _ She was certain she had not seen the last of the Tyranids, but there was no way Elora or her last opponent standing could take them on alone.

“Why do you hesitate? Kill me already. Victory is yours,  _ mon’keigh _ . I yield.” she said between laboured breaths. He powered off his chainsword, lowering it to show he was no longer inclined to attack, and looked at her.

“Eldar. I could say the same as you.” he replied. “We are outnumbered by  _ them  _ and I do not wish to linger here, but I fear our ship is lost to those Tyranids. My brothers and I do not trust your kind. Though alas, I am afraid I have no other option.”  _ Tyranids _ ? That was the name humans called the Devourer, she assumed, but now was not the time to ask such questions when they were both in danger of meeting their end on this doomed planet.

“Very well. We shall hurry back to my ship. But before we leave...” She rifled through the pockets of her fallen allies, retrieving all the soulstones she could find, in hope that their spirits could be saved and not consumed by the chaos god they feared most. Noticing her jet bike still parked where she had left it, Elora reached into her pocket for its key to see if the vehicle would still start. Somehow, it did. She gestured for the marine to climb on the back and they took off through the trees, towards the clearing where the Ulthwéan detachment had landed a few days ago, and gestured for him to climb into the miraculously intact craft. Strangely he did as she asked, with little protest, perhaps because in this moment what mattered most was leaving this world to its fate and living to fight another day. Such was true for both of them, as different in kind as they were. Elora took her position in the cockpit and readied the ship for takeoff, and as they ascended above the trees, she whispered one final prayer to Isha, thanking the goddess for at least letting her survive, along with her unlikely companion.

As they left the atmosphere of Alrune and ascended into the vacuum of space, Elora felt the marine’s icy gaze on her the whole time. When she shifted the craft into autopilot, she stood up from her seat and turned around to see her passenger had removed his helmet, setting it down in his lap, and was examining his weapons for any damage. She had seen humans before and even shown a willingness to work alongside them, unusual for her kind, and as a potent psyker her sharp mind was a useful tool for the rare few who did not see her as a threat to their lives and their Imperium. But a space marine such as this one, without a helmet, was a new sight for Elora. His hair, slightly tousled from the carnage, was blonde and reached his shoulders, and he had piercing grey eyes and a small patch of hair on his chin. And though she could sense his relief at being rescued from certain death, he still seemed tense.

“Please,” Elora spoke suddenly, “tell me your name. I do not wish to call you  _ mon’keigh _ , for I believe you humans find that rather impolite.” As he looked up from examining his weapons, she sensed his tension had eased somewhat.

“I am Brother Nathanael Camius of the Blood Angels, Third Company. Tell me, xeno. Who are you and why did you not kill me?” he replied, staring at the Farseer, who had now let down her long silver hair and was staring at him, not sure what to make of him. She knew space marines were technically of the human race but had become so much more than that through enhancements to their bodies and minds, able to withstand even the harshest of conditions, a little like the abilities her kind were naturally gifted with. Had they fought, they would be evenly matched, she thought, but  _ why did he let her live _ ?

“I spared your life because despite what your Imperial dogma may say, not all of us are malevolent beings bent on destroying you and taking over your world. Some of us simply wish to no longer live in fear.” answered Elora. “I could ask the same of you.” Nathanael fell silent. The Eldar sensed a feeling of unease in him as he sat there, contemplating why he would willingly board the ship of a xeno.

“Fear…” he muttered. Elora gave him a puzzled look. Again, he fell silent. “Let us speak of this no more. Return me to my brothers on Baal. Do you know it…  _ Eldar? _ ”

“You may call me Elora, though unlikely it is that we will ever meet again. I know not your home by name, but perhaps… you could guide me there.”

“Very well. From what I recall my captain saying, we are not far away. But I do request you not make landfall on Baal, for I doubt my brothers will take kindly to a xeno craft on their territory. They will see it as an invasion. A witch such as yourself may be able to teleport me when we approach.” At the sound of the word  _ witch _ , Elora grimaced. She knew its connotations were…  _ unpleasant _ , when humans used it to refer to psykers, regardless of race. But she also knew it was wise of them to regard psykers with suspicion, for many were too weak willed to control the energies of the Warp. The energies of the Warp instead controlled them. And from the moment she first embarked on the Path of the Seer, Elora knew to be cautious, never using her gift in ways that could draw the attention of She who Thirsts.

A few silent moments later, Elora’s ship arrived at an ochre coloured planet, a wasteland by the looks of it, orbited by two moons. She recalled, from her past encounters with humans, that this was the world they called Baal. So desolate was this world that only the hardiest of individuals could survive in its irradiated atmosphere, she was told. Though her constitution was strong, she feared what would happen were she to set foot on such a place, for she knew from countless battles she had once fought that Space Marines had unimaginable strength rivalling that of even the Avatars of Khaine. So perhaps psychically beaming him down was indeed the safest way to get Nathanael home.

“Is this it?” Elora asked him, examining the Space Marine in his damaged crimson armour for the last time. “Your home. In my mind’s eye I see… a fortress, below us. Is that where I am to send you?”

“Yes,” he replied, “And reluctantly I must say that you are a fine navigator… Elora. I suppose this is farewell.” He watched as the Eldar closed her eyes, focusing her mind onto the desert world below them, forming a beacon of light. A radiant aura surrounded Nathanael. Then, in a flash, he was gone.

The cycle of war was unending. Time and time again, the humans had unleashed their aggression on the Eldar. Since her first fateful meeting with one human who showed her mercy and compassion like none before, she wished to break the cycle. The battle on Alrune was one she did not wish to fight. But once again, her hand had been forced. She wondered what this close ally of hers would say, were they to hear of Elora’s surrender, and the same mercy she had shown to this Nathanael. As she sailed the cosmos, back to Ulthwé, it weighed on her mind. A vision flashed in her head, though hazy, and though she sensed the strife would continue, her intuition told her something most unusual. That somehow, somewhere, she and the Blood Angel would meet again.


End file.
